


just to hold you close and tight

by ashers_kiss



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, F/M, happy endings for everyone!, mentioned Tauriel/Kíli
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-07
Updated: 2014-02-07
Packaged: 2018-01-11 13:19:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1173527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashers_kiss/pseuds/ashers_kiss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They don’t get quiet very often, the two of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	just to hold you close and tight

**Author's Note:**

> And here I thought my first fic of 2014 would be Carol Marcus fic. Oh well. Other projects aren't coming along as I'd planned, and this one was just sitting finished in my folder, so...
> 
> This basically happened just because I saw someone on Tumblr mention it, and my brain was arrested with cute. I just want everyone to have a happy ending, okay?! (I've been sobbing my heart out over these damn characters since I was 11, and I'd like it to stop now please.) On that note, I may have twigged some things regarding the Battle. Um. Aside from the obvious.
> 
> (Having said that, I don't know if I'd ever do anything else with this pairing - despite having looked her up on imdb, I was unaware until after that Sigrid is actually played by James Nesbitt's daughter, which gave me a bit of pause. But this was fun and I like it, so here we are.)
> 
> Thanks to [littleblackghost](http://archiveofourown.org/users/littleblackghost) for looking it over for me. Any remaining mistakes are mine.
> 
> Title from [Early Sunsets Over Monroeville](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GW_umELS5w8) by My Chemical Romance (because it's the only even vaguely romantic song I seem to have that isn't half in Japanese).

It’s not terrible, Fili thinks, this side of the mountain. Not now that the snow’s slipped away and the grass is starting to creep back, anyway. He can’t quite tell if it’s just normal springtime, or a result of the dragon’s absence. He should ask, but he’s enjoying the quiet too much.

Sigrid has her head in his lap, her hair loose for once (the pins hidden somewhere in one of her pockets after she’d helped him pull them all out, and laughed at him when he hadn’t a clue what to do with them), and Fili can’t stop himself from running his fingers through the softness of it. She hums at him sometimes, shifts herself ever so slightly, always with her hand curled over his knee, but she doesn’t say anything, either. They don’t get quiet very often, the two of them.

It won’t be very quiet inside, at any rate. Not with the trade talks still supposed to be going on – really though, it’s mostly just her da and Thorin shouting at each other a lot, with Gandalf supposedly acting as mediator. Mostly, he just sits back and watches with his pipe while Bilbo does all the work. Fili isn’t exactly anxious to get back to that. He should feel bad about that, after everything, but right now he just can’t.

Besides, Kili provided more than enough of a distraction for them to slip away, and if there’s one thing Kee’s always been good at, it’s distracting people. (He’s good at other stuff, too, _hundreds_ of things, and Fili will happily cut out the tongue of anyone who says differently, but that particular skill is something he greatly appreciates at the moment.) Even if he had winked at them on their way out; if it hadn’t been for Sigrid’s hand in his, firm and insistent as she led the way, Fili would have probably gone back to smack him over the head, on principle.

He should just be glad his mother hasn’t arrived from Ered Luin yet. She’d been wise to Kili’s tricks ever since he’d been tall enough to reach the sweetmeats; she’d have followed them out here without a second thought.

Sigrid takes a sharp breath. “Your ma,” she says, as if she _knew_ , and Fili’s hands jerk in her hair. He wouldn’t entirely put it past her. He’s three times her age and then some, and sometimes, she’ll give him a _look_ , like he’s nothing but a child with every secret laid bare on his face. “You think she’ll like me?” She sounds – cautious, and he can’t see her face, but he can hear the tremble under her words. He’d laugh – his girl, his beautiful, _stubborn_ girl who’d shoved his uncle back into his bed until he was able to stand (and Fili would be lying if he said he hadn’t known, there and then, when she turned a deaf ear to Thorin’s cursing), she shouldn’t be afraid of anyone – but he knows his mother, and he knows the stories she’ll have heard. Every one of them true, no doubt.

He leans down to press a kiss to her forehead, even as his sides protest and the new skin stretches. Sigrid huffs at him, pushes herself up to close the distance, and his mouth slides to hers without much of his consent. Or his complaint, for that matter, and Sigrid seems inclined to agree.

When they finally part, she presses their foreheads together and he says, “More than she’ll like Tauriel.”

He can all but _feel_ her roll her eyes. “Very reassuring, love, thank you.”

“Oh, you wanted reassurance?” He can’t help his smile; she’s so very easy to annoy this way. She taps him on the cheek, rather smartly, and her hand stays there, fingers carding through his beard. Fili sighs, covers her hand with his. “Truth is, I hope she’d be happy that we’re happy.” And alive, he doesn’t say, because Sigrid’s hand shakes under his ever so slightly already. He kisses her again, smooths her hair down her back.

Because he _is_ happy. Since the moment he awoke to the sight of Sigrid leaning over him, eyes wet with tears that spilled down her cheeks the moment she realised, whispering, “Thank you, oh, _thank_ you.” If he could have sat up – and he _tried_ , he did, until she held him down and said, “Don’t you _dare_ , if you rip those stitches I’ll kill you myself,” in a voice that shook, and even addled by injury, he knew to obey – he’d have kissed her then. (In his defence, she was a _much_ prettier sight than the one he’d closed his eyes on, only seconds before convinced of their defeat. And then Bilbo and Tauriel had appeared, and he’d taken another orc down with him before he let go.)

This time, Sigrid pulls back long before Fili’s ready. “And if she doesn’t?” she asks. The tilt of her chin is, for a moment, terrifyingly familiar, and Fili thinks his mother would be a fool not to like her.

He pushes her hair back from her face, thinks of the beads he’s carved, kept secret in a pouch hidden in his room. They’re nowhere near what she deserves, carving was never his talent, but he thinks of weaving them through her hair on their wedding day and says, “Then she has worse taste than I ever thought her capable of.”

It startles her, obviously – she looks up at him with big, wide eyes and swallows before she says, “You’re an idiot.”

“Probably,” he agrees, turning his head to kiss her palm, fingers still tangled up in his beard. “But I’m your idiot.”

This time, he gets to watch her roll her eyes, and he laughs, pulls her back in for another kiss even as she calls him a soppy sod of a dwarf.

They head back inside before the wind turns cold; Fili braids her hair for her before she helps him to his feet, keeping her arm tucked through his for the more…difficult bits. (His leg’s still stiff, just like the rest of him, and Oin says he’ll probably always have a limp, but Fili’s going to call it a small price to pay.) It doesn’t particularly look as though either Thorin or Bard noticed their absence, too busy glaring at each other across the table when Fili slides back into his seat. (He thinks Bilbo might suspect, considering the way he keeps watching him, but he isn’t surprised; he’s an observant fellow, mostly, their burglar.) Sigrid pulls an over-exaggerated face at him from the shadows of the doorway, more a grimace than anything else, and one that makes Fili laugh so hard – quietly, of course – that he really does start coughing, and Kili has to thump him on the back.

When he looks up again, Sigrid smiles, bright and beautiful in the dark, before she slips back out, as silently as she’d entered the first time. His breath catches, and for a moment, all he wants to do is tell every single person in the room how much he loves that brave, ridiculous girl who, by some miracle, loves him back.

Then Dwalin mutters something Bard takes particular offence to – or maybe it’s the other way around, it’s hard to tell now – and the shouting starts up again. Fili slumps down in his seat, and Kili pats his shoulder without even looking at him. At the other end of the table, Bilbo thunks his head down on the wood. Repeatedly.

Then again, telling them can always wait until _after_ the talks.


End file.
